Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Barreling into Boston

I was missing again last week...you know, in case you were
looking.

If you were looking and you found me, let me know where I was
because sometimes life gets confusing.

Like when you go to grab the only decent black belt you own that
actually buckles around your seemingly ever expanding waist, and you can’t seem
to find it—the belt, not your waist—because it too is missing.

Which is a problem because you’re packing basically the only
pair of big boy pants you own in order to attend your nephew’s wedding up in
Boston and you’ll look kind of silly if you tie a length of clothes line around
your middle....again.

Not that the only pair of big boy pants you own would fall
down or anything. No...not when you have to shoe horn yourself into them, while
holding your breath and sucking in your stomach.

So there’s that kind of confusing.

Not to mention scanning through every photo of every dress
up event you’ve attended in the last 4 years to ensure you’re not wearing the exact
same shirt and tie...again...because as we all know, people compare pictures
just to catch you in a fashion faux pas, which is much worse, apparently, than
being caught in a fashion for real pas.

Enough said....

So I was heading off to Boston without a belt.

Not to mention as a participant in a new “shared suitcase” experiment,
designed to lessen the amount of luggage lugging from here to there...and there
to here.

Which—in theory—is a good idea, except I normally have a
very precise method of packing my own suitcase, which to the uninformed might
seem somewhat “unorthodox” but makes perfect sense...at least to me.

I know where everything is at any given moment and don’t
have to dig around for my foot massager should the need arise.

However, in a “shared suitcase” scenario the possibility exists
that said foot massager may not be found in its long designated, convenient location
and therefore may not be available for instant retrieval should the need arise
to relieve a sudden and unexpected foot cramp, which may or may not result in much screaming and yelling, much to
the dismay of the cashier at McDonalds.

Enough said....

But, all in all, Z and I are pretty compatible travel
companions.

We each have our roles.

I drive and Z sleeps.

Which works out pretty well, because when Z doesn’t sleep we’ve
been known to politely disagree over such trivial things like choice of music, air
conditioner setting, speed limit, carefully engineered and thought out lane changes...and
whether or not to turn east or west at the Hartford interchange.

It’s west, by the way...but east is nice too.

And since I put an extra Benadryl in Z’s tea that morning,
there was hardly any criticism...at least none that was sustained.

Being a reasonable driver, let alone, travel companion, I eventually
gave in and allowed Gladys from Google to lead us and from there forward, I
have to admit, it was smooth sailing all the way.

We even made a side stop at Walden to check back in on Henry
David and to walk the simplified footpaths of enlightenment, which fortunately
led right to the rest rooms.

Then it was straight on into the Back Bay section of Boston,
which compared to any section of NYC moves at such a quiet, unhurried pace that
driving across its civilized avenues requires no cursing, finger waving or annoying
horn blowing...which is not appreciated...apparently.

And the locals were pretty friendly, too. I asked a couple
how to find my way to the actual bay—front or back; I wasn’t picky—just to sit
on the dock, waste some time and watch the tide roll away....

However, for some reason no one could give me a straight answer,
at least one I could understand. It was
difficult making sense of what they were saying, I guess because of their
Boston accents...plus all the laughing didn’t help.

Laughter aside, we stayed in a nice trendy “boutique” hotel, which only
took several trips around the block to find since the “boutique” entryway was little
more than the size of our front door.

But once checked in we were pleased to find our “boutique”
room overlooked the famous finish line of the famous Boston Marathon.

And while our stylish “boutique” room may have been a tad on
the small size, it was more than comfortable...plus showering while still in
bed turned out to be quite a time saver.

Of course, like most tourists, we managed to take in a lot
of the local, historical sites. After some hesitation I downloaded one of those
ride share apps to my smart-ass-phone...and I have to say, all my concerns were for
naught. It made all the difference in getting
from here to there...and there to here, in no time.

In fact, once we payed the initial ransom demand and crawled
out of that musty old basement, we were only 20 minutes late for our dinner
reservation in the North End.

Nah...I’m kidding. There was no ransom demand.

I like to think of it as more of a loan.

All in all it was a great trip and a great weekend.

Oh...and did I mention it was a great wedding, as well.

The venue was the Boston Public Library, under a full moon.

And while you might think having a wedding at a library is somewhat
unconventional, it really wasn’t at all; especially since the bride is a doctoral
candidate at Harvard and was able to dance, party and work on her dissertation,
all at the same time.

Pretty smart thinking, huh? I guess that’s why she goes to
Harvard.

And since the groom is my nephew and shares my DNA...well,
you know....

great pictures, brian! and how cool that you were at the finish line...when we stayed in boston we too had a quaint hotel room where we also showered from the bed...i think you should let z write a guest column.

I believe you Brian, as I always do. The trouser and belt section gave me a belly laugh. I like the mixed the marriage section with the old and new hints. I felt the suitcase sharing idea a bit of a worry. If we did that there would be little room for my big boys pants.

Brian, when you were inquiring about the location of Back Bay, you were probably standing on it. Back Bay was filled in about 200 years ago using soil from nearby communities. My town, Weymouth, contributed soil from what used to be a hill.

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About Me

My passion these days is writing silly stories for “The
Freelance Retort”, the humor website I began in May of 2011 when the world was
supposed to come to an end. It didn’t and now I’m stuck writing these things 2
or 3 times a week.My passion before that was chocolate ice cream.

When I’m not doing this, I’m a freelance, corporate writer/director/ producer, which means—besides the many slashes—I create everything from promotional, instructional and training videos to interactive on line presentations for various corporation and health care companies. In that sense I guess you could say that I’m a “professional writer” since I do get paid to write, work from home and have lots of free time to myself. However, most of my friends and neighbors think I’m just goofing off. Naturally, being a freelance writer who deals with the sometimes insanity of the corporate world from the safety of the creative fringe, my views will more often than not be tinged with cynicism, sarcasm and a fair share of self-deprecation. I hope you enjoy them in the spirit in which they are intended….